


remember when you were a madman

by brandywine421



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Car Accidents, Comfort, Emergency Medical Technicians, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandywine421/pseuds/brandywine421
Summary: Collection of Hurt/Comfort fics for 'Bad Things Happen' Bingo - aka - 25 Very Awful Things that happen to Matt Murdock.*Mind the tags/warnings.





	1. self-surgery

**Author's Note:**

> (So Matt & Jessica have some good things happening in another 'verse far way from this - but for texture, here are 25 bad things that happened to Matt Murdock.)
> 
> *This may get 'shorter' if I end up linking a set together into a whole story but for now, it's just gratuitous hurt/comfort.
> 
> MIND THE TAGS. (I didn't get anything directly 'sexual' on my card _(I may do some comfort-related smut but not part of the 'bad things happening)_ but I got a **whole lotta whump** and plan on some ultraviolence at some point - politely let me know if you know of a tag I missed - there are so many.)
> 
> In case you want to pick and choose what flavor of bad thing to read, here's the list so far and there's an index you can click.
> 
> 1\. self-surgery (Matt & lil bit of Fog)  
> 2\. power fatigue (Defenders)  
> 3\. vehicular accident, broken rib(s) and bloodstained clothes. (Foggy & Marci)  
> 4\. suicide attempt

 

_remember when you were a madman, thought you was Batman_

 

(01.  Self-Surgery.) 

  
He didn't think he could get the suit off but once it was piled by the stairs, he managed to drag his busted leg - and the rest of his body - to the bathroom. Dead weight. What a fucking night.

He didn't think he could move much further but he forced his feet, and then his knees when the feet stopped working, forward to the tub, pulling his body to sit on the edge.

He turned his senses inside, closing his nose and tuning out his ears - leaning his head back to breathe his through his busted mouth. He zoned into the pain, the _pulsing_ knot in his knee, the _ache_ of steel toed boots in his fingers, the _shard_ of white hot agony in his side and _thickening_ blood layering his skin.

What a _fucking_ night.

He couldn't think about tomorrow, the office, the cases, the questions, the torture of moving _any_ parts of his body - all he could do was deal with tonight - right now - now - now - 

 _Okay_. He exhaled and released his senses, immediately regretting it when his focus drifted too close to black and too far from fire.

Triage. He could do this. No broken bones, nothing that wouldn't heal, nothing that would kill him - except that bleeding - what was that?

He tried to tune out the pain and slid to the floor from the edge of the tub. He'd get everything together before he worried about standing. Stop the blood. He could do this. Whiskey, rubbing alcohol, scalpel he prayed he wouldn't need, needle, thread, stapler - ha - 

What a fucking -

He didn't think it was possible to 'fall' when you were already sitting down but it took a moment for him to catch his breath. Got it.

 _Fuck_.

He caught his breath again and managed to keep it and moved his legs, _one_ at a _fucking_ time, to the tub again and twisted the knob. The water was cold enough to shock him back to the point - stop the blood. **Now** , _Murdock_ , _what_ the _fuck -_

 

* * *

 

Something was stuck in his side, half an inch deep and chipped on both ends. Not glass - he _hated_ glass - but metal.

Sitting on the wet bath mat with four swallows of whiskey burning in his guts and shivering too much to reach a towel - he knew he had to get it out. The wound couldn't close with a stick of metal and - he couldn't call anyone - if the towel two feet away was too far, the phone was impossible.

He could do this. He was still breathing, still bleeding - but still breathing. Stay on task.

Everything was within his reach. He had his shit together. _Sure_.

He dropped the scalpel, three times so he decided to admit it, but his fingers were steady when he centered the blade against his skin.

Scar, bullet from the Irish mob four years ago, three fingertips to the left and one thumb above a Hand dagger's lucky clip from six months back - okay.

 _Don't_ move, _don't_ breathe, just _press_ \- _push_ three seconds deep and _slide_ \- _don't_ move -

Blood streamed through his fingers but he held the slash open and let the scalpel fall to the floor with a tinkle into the puddle of water and freshly hot blood.

Tweezers. He forgot tweezers and now - what a fucking _night_ \- he had his goddamn _fucking_ shit _together_ \- fingernails would have to do and - _god - damn - ev - er- y - thing - fuck_ \- ripped the flesh open to clasp the jagged shrapnel and pull - don't breathe - _just_ -

He tasted blood and bile and barely kept down the whiskey through the wave of pain. He splayed his hands on the mat until he could feel them again - his fingers, his wrists, his elbow, a shoulder and a half, ribs, gaping wound, hips, thighs, knees - he was _fine_.

He took the needle - threaded the morning after the last time he'd had to use the kit - because he _had_ his _shit_ together, _goddammit_ \- and focused his full - **ha** \- attention on the sensation of the thin spike of metal between his swollen fingertips. Maybe he grabbed the whiskey instead of the rubbing alcohol but fuck it, he splashed a gulp into his mouth and poured the rest into the wound.

He didn't drop the needle. Go team.

Butterfly bandages wouldn't do it - he still had the same goal - stop the blood.

All right, Dad, look at your kid now - steadiest hands in the room are still on the blind kid in the corner - push - pull - pullpullpullpull - squeeze - push - in and out - air and thread - make the hem pretty on your best girl's dress - one - two - buck - el - your - shoe -

" **Matt**. Stop - _just_ \- stop what you're doing right now and - "

Foggy wasn't here. Was he hallucinating? Stop the blood. He took a break from counting - breathing - knitting - no - his fingers still had the needle - the thread was pulled taut - the hole was pulled -

"You sewed too far - shit, you - are you - "

"Got my shit together," he replied and waited for Foggy's heartbeat to settle but it was taking way too long. He twisted the thread around his fingers and snapped it, too busy having his shit together to tie it off. "Can you - towel?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric tag belongs to My Chemical Romance.


	2. power fatigue

  
_you say that you're here, but you live on the Sun_

 

(02. Power Fatigue.)

 

" _Wait_ \- "

Jessica pivoted in place and stalked back down the tunnel. She wanted * **out** * of here - they didn't have time to _wait_ for anything - not when so many people were still buried and dying and - _wait_.

Danny had Matt's shoulder in a white-knuckled grip and the crowd of limping survivors started to murmur, unsettled as they split apart to let Luke pass to the front of the cluster.

"I can't - " Matt said and Jessica's fuse sputtered to life and she lashed out, grabbing both arms and shaking him firmly. He shuddered - _sputtered_ \- and three drops of shiny blood fell in a neat line across her hand. "I - can't see - "

"Let him go, Jess," Danny hissed and her fingers seized and released - _fuck_ \- he'd have bruises - she was too sober - too _much_ , Jones - get it together - "What do you mean, Matt?"

"It - I can't - _distortion_ , too many people, everything - it's bouncing off the walls and I can't - I've been down here, too long, it's too much - " Matt murmured, his voice unsure. She raised her hand, ignoring Danny's hiss of warning, and tapped the stripe of blood trickling from his ear. He let out a whimper and bit down on his gloved hand before they could stop him.

"Hey, stop it, we'll get topside," Luke rumbled with a pointed look at Jessica, tugging the glove from his teeth. "We've been down here for hours, search and rescue probably have a team free now to take over."

Matt shook his head, lips white with strain or pain or both, but his hand snaps around Luke's wrist like a striking snake. "Can we go up? I know someone's talking, but - can we go?"

Danny darted away from them, talking softly to the small crowd and redistributing the flashlights and instructions to the exit several hundred yards down the tunnel. He returned with a set of heavy headphones, the expensive sound-canceling kind Jessica refused to pay for but totally wanted to try.

He pushed the headphones over the Devil's hood and took Matt's fingers and raised them to his throat above his Adam's apple. "Matt."

The tunnel seemed to expand - tangible relief was apparently a real thing - because Matt relaxed, running his fingers over Danny's neck with a soft smile. "Danny. That helps."

"I'll take the front, Jess, bring him up last, take your time. I'll get a medic, or someone with a car to meet - " Luke started but Jessica had work to do - she'd shaken the hell out of the guy - her teammate - her _friend_ \- shit - "Relax, Jess. We're all tired."

Danny gently moved Matt's hand to Jessica's forearm and he latched on like a claw until he recognized her, leather jacket for the win. She turned so he could lean his head on her shoulder, exhaustion lining what parts of his face she could see. She itched to take the mask off but she wasn't sure seeing his untethered gaze would make her feel like less of an asshole.

"I fucked up," Matt mumbled. "Sorry."

She knew he couldn't hear her platitudes so she didn't say anything, waiting for the last of the civilians to drift out of sight before she slowly marched him after them.

 

* * *

 

"The streets are still blocked but his cop friend says this is the closest safe place and Foggy cleared it," Danny said, skipping up the stairs and ringing the doorbell.

Jessica didn't trust many people but strangers least of all but the older black woman that answered immediately set off alarms before she spotted the framed photos of the woman and her police officer son through the years. Shit.

The woman caught her look with sharp eyes. "Don't ask, don't tell - don't ruin this for them," Bess Mahoney warned with a glare that made all three of them raise their hands like she'd pulled a gun. "Good. Close the door."

Matt was stiff with what passed for panic in his fucked up little brain but Bess cupped his cheek with her wrinkled hands, making sure her rings made contact and like magic, he unclenched his fists. "Mrs. Mahoney."

She tugged the headphones and mask off his face, frowning at the splash of blood when she dropped the earmuffs to a side table. "Was he caught in the explosion?"

"No, we've been helping underground for - what time is it?" Jessica fumbled.

Bess nodded, pushing open a door. "Late enough to know you were down there too long. This way, I've got coffee on but I don't want any of you rummaging around my kitchen until you wash your hands."

"What do you think's wrong with him?" Jessica blurted out when Danny and Luke took the hint and stepped into the bathroom of the small guest room.

Bess hummed as she guided him to the edge of the twin bed and nudged him to sit. "His mother would know better, but I think he probably had his powers turned wide open for too long - burned himself right out."

She wasn't as worried as Jessica thought she should be but - _maybe_ \- that was okay. Matt wasn't seized up with anxiety and had clearly been here before considering the way his fingers clutched and unclutched the fleece comforter.

Jessica forced a breath and turned to tag into the hand-washing party but jumped at the man standing by the closet.

"That's my nephew, please take a selfie before you leave," Bess said, motioning to the full-sized cardboard cutout of a soldier with a bright Mahoney grin tucked in the corner. "Only Avenger I've ever gotten for him was the robot, Vision. He's nicer than you'd expect, very polite.  What was Matt doing down there?"

"He could hear the heartbeats through the rubble, we didn't think it would hurt him, he seemed fine," Jessica said as Danny passed by her with a first aid kit and several washrags.

Matt twitched, shaking his head slightly. "Too much echo, every time we brought a new person out - got worse, thought it would go away."

"Can I touch your ears, dear?" Bess asked and Jessica waited for Matt to nod before she took her turn at the sink. Clean hands was fair trade for coffee if Matt was going to be okay enough to have some, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric tag belongs to Robert DeLong.


	3. vehicular accident, broken ribs, bloodstained clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mini-fic knitting three of these together in a linear set.

 

 _All I ever did was look up to you_  
_And if all I ever did was let, let you down_  
_Ain't nothing stopping me now_

(03. Vehicular Accident.)

 

  
"So I guess this is it, the end of your wingman status," Matt grins when Foggy shifts the car into gear.

"Here it comes, been waiting for this talk for weeks, lay it on me," Foggy replied in a put-upon voice but his heartbeat was still soaring from the successful dinner with his soon to be in-laws.

His parents already adored Marci, despite a bumpy patch in college when Foggy caught Matt mediating what they called the 'green bean casserole incident that will never be spoken of again'. Matt was a great mediator when he actually cared about the settlement - which is exactly why he needed him riding sidecar with the Stahl family.

"I'm happy for you, man, but you knew that already," Matt laughed, easy with the wine and champagne. "Thanks for getting me a night off."

Foggy scoffed. "What, you're not going out stalking tonight?"

"It's not stalking, it's patrol."

"Patrol is what police do, not vigilantes - vigilantes 'stalk'," Foggy replied. He was going to have a big glass of wine when he got home because he deserved it.

"Back to the wingman conversation - am I going to have to go to these dinners once you marry Marci? Because i could get used to the good stuff," Matt yawned, cushioning his head against the seat belt so he could lean against the window.

"Ha ha, and never again when I have to drive home - but I do appreciate you taking one for the team tonight."

Matt shrugged. "Meh, only a couple of them were blatant Republicans and I clocked them early and I accomplished your goal of making you look great."

Foggy was halfway through his eyeroll when the taxicab screeched through the red light and sent everything sideways and then upside down before sideways again in a splash of splintering glass.

He wasn't aware of the airbags popping out or the flashing emergency lights from the other car - or cars - there was a lot of noise - but he slowly processed his surroundings when the orange - white - orange - white - orange - white flashing settled into slashing red pain in his arm as he pulled it to his face. "Shit. Stitches."

Matt did his own stitches but Foggy didn't want to give him more to do tonight - wingman only went so far - wait - Matt - "Matt?"

  

 _Well would you do it again, again_  
_And count backwards from ten_  
_(Look I don't make those mistakes no more)_

  
(04. Broken Ribs.)

  
"No - I have to go with him," Foggy insisted, staring blankly as the paramedics loaded Matt onto the backboard.

"Sir - "

"You don't understand, please - he's my best friend - " Foggy said, managing to blink through what these assholes kept calling 'shock' or something fake.

Still, he wasn't alert enough to warn the EMTs when he saw Matt wake up, hand snapping out and nailing the biggest guy right in the kidneys. "Told you - Matt - you're okay - they're trying to help you!" he called from the bumper of his ambulance but Matt got two more swings out before he seemed to process the sound.

"Motherfuck - fine, let the guy ride-along, is he stable?" All the EMTs were giving the stretcher a wide berth.

Foggy was on his feet and only stumbled over the curb once to get to Matt's side and find his hand with his unwrapped one. Matt clasped his fingers like a rope ladder.

"You all right? What happened? Did you let me drive, you know I'm drunk," Matt slurred in a hoarse voice.

The medics all glanced at each other but Foggy's minder spoke first. "Thought you said he was blind."

"He's fucking with me, stop it - tell me, Matt - how do you feel?" Foggy asked urgently.

Matt's broken eyes scanned offline when he answered. "Fractured ribs might be broken - don't want another collapsed lung, oxygen might be a nice idea."

Foggy laid his hand over Matt's forehead until he closed his eyes and the paramedics swarmed again now that lucidity had been confirmed. "Wiggle your fingers and toes?"

Matt raised his middle finger. "Why am I drunk?"

"Because you're my best friend and you love me," Foggy said, wondering blankly when he started to cry.

"Maybe, roll me on this side, can't - don't want the needle to the chest," Matt said with a short burst of energy.

Foggy climbed in without letting go of Matt's hand, mimicking the professionals that were ripping buttons off shirts and passing around stethoscopes and gloves.

"Has he had collapsed lungs before?"

Foggy nodded, dull in the bright light of the ambulance. They were moving already? Who was going to get his car? His mom was going to be pissed - Marci and - Matt -

"Happens - sometimes - " Matt said and something started to beep steady and unwavering - so steady - wasn't beeping supposed to be in a pattern - but the hiss - the scary hiss of leaking gas or snakes - made the beeping split off.

Foggy blinked and saw the mask over Matt's mouth but his eyes were better - ha - he'd have to remember that - no - his skin was better, his lips were less blue.

Blue. Shit. Someone squeezed his shoulder. "Airbags can trigger a pneumothorax easy if a person's had one before - it helps that we know."

Foggy considered the scars painting Matt's chest and wondered which ones were from a collapsed lung. Matt sluggishly raised a thumbs up and moved his hand to hold the mask in place.

Christ. This was all his fault.

_don't act like you can see me, darling, coming_

  
(04. Bloodstained Clothes.)

 

  
_"Marci, where's Matt? They won't - "_

She barely restrained herself from pushing the nurse out of the way to get to Foggy but she managed to take the sight of his glazed eyes and panic-lined face as proof that he was going to be fine. The nurse leaned aside and let her get one arm carefully around him without upsetting the line of neat stitches on his wrist.

"I'm going to stay right here with you, how about I call someone - " Marci started, calling upon the patience of all five glasses of champagne and the two tequila shots for luck before she got the call.

"Karen, maybe one of the Defenders - but nobody's here right but you right now, please - he'll lose his shit, Marci and - this is all my fault - " Foggy said desperately.

She knew when she accepted Foggy's ring that she was accepting Matt as part of the deal - the two men had established codependency years before she threw her hat in the ring. She smoothed her hands through his messed up hair and kissed his lips gently until he shut up.

"I'll check on him - "

"Don't check on him, stay with him - Marci - you know why this is - please - don't - "

Fucking vigilante delusion bullshit - she couldn't believe he was still on that fairy tale - but she kissed him again and smiled instead of glaring at the nurse who was openly amused. "Be right back - give him the good drugs, please."

"Already on it," Foggy admitted under his breath.

"His buddy's in the next room - he's not as calm as your boyfriend here," an orderly told her when she turned to the door.

"Take me there," she ordered, politely, fuck you Foggy - but the guy was already leaning into a doorway.

She didn't know what the big deal was until she stepped into the examining room and processed that all of the doctors and nurses were pointedly out of reach of the gurney. "Matt?"

Everything seemed to pause and there was a muted thump as her heels clicked across the floor. There were a lot of machines running in this room but she heard Matt's soft response. "Marci?" He had an oxygen mask over his face and his chest - damn - guy was ripped - and ripped up but not from this - Jesus - maybe that vigilante delusion wasn't so delusional after all. Shit.

"Oh, yes, Marci, please come in," a nurse ushered her closer and she took Matt's pale hand without hesitation. This could go really really bad. The medical staff picked up speed when Matt focused his full attention on their laced fingers. She squeezed.

"Foggy's fine, he's on the good drugs next door," she said calmly. "How are you?"

"Fine, don't let them give me - fine," Matt clipped off. They fitted a tube of oxygen over under his nose and she could hear him better without the mask. She wondered if it was weird to have his mouth covered if he usually covered the top half of his head.

"You see her ring?" Matt murmured when the nurse taped down the IV with a pleased expression. "She's real proud of it. Had to ride all the way uptown so she could show it off to the blind guy."

Marci smiled but didn't let go of his hand when he was obviously trying to calm her down, or calm himself down. "You're such a dick."

"Is he your - " the nurse started, amused.

"Ew," Matt and Marci said together and a couple of the doctors cracked a smile. Thank God, that meant he'd be all right, didn't it?

"He's our best friend," she said. "Doesn't do well in the hospital if he doesn't have someone he knows nearby, since the whole 'blind' thing when he was a kid."

"I can breathe now, can I," he tugged his hand from her and went for the oxygen under his nose but she snatched his fingers back.

"No - you're still in time-out until all the monitors stop flashing red; so you'll just have to trust me," Marci said. What if - if he was really Daredevil then Marci was going to be apologizing forever - and she owed Anna Nelson twenty bucks.

"Oxygen level's okay, we're going to monitor you - "

"How long? AMA," Matt said.

"Hush," Marci warned and the doctor speaking cleared the room and lowered his voice with a serious look directed at her.

"He's got a lot of scar tissue and healed fractures for a man his age, we need his medical records - "

"Call my lawyer," Matt snapped. Shit. Yellow alert. "Happened out of state, over in Gotham."

The doctor blinked. "That's not a real place."

"Prove it," Matt hissed. Red, so fucking red, alert.

Marci squeezed his hand, hard and tried to take over. "He has good reasons to be wary of strangers. People can be assholes."

The doctor flinched at that and Marci noticed Matt slowly unclenching his fists.

"When I'm _disoriented_ , I feel _unsafe_ ," Matt stated in measured syllables as if quoting from a script. "If you need to put down post-traumatic-stress or or whatever helps you sleep at night then - "

"Take it down to a six, Matt, we're all on the same page here," Marci said calmly with a pointed look at the doctor. "He's got a private doctor through one of his legal clients that can do all the follow up you want, but - "

"Antibiotics and aftercare, we'll need a lot of signatures," the doctor conceded, experienced enough to hear her drop the 'legal' word even if the rest was complete improvisation.

"I know the drill, thank you, please, and goodnight," Matt said.

Foggy shuffled in and slid his arm around her waist and she finally let go of Matt's fingers. "Matt."

Matt clenched his fist and Marci almost panicked until Foggy bumped knuckles with him. "I'm going to give you the best toast at your wedding if you take me home right now - but if you don't - "

"We'll take you home, but it's going to be our place. Hi, I'm Matt's lawyer and medical power of attorney," Foggy started, reciting from a memorized script as he offered his bandaged hand to the doctor.  Fuck, these two assholes _totally_ had a script.

"I'll be back," the guy sighed.

"Blood? Are you bleeding?" Matt asked, frowning until Foggy patted his arm. "That was your favorite suit."

"Nope, it was Marci's favorite suit and I'm burning it tomorrow," Foggy replied, kissing Marci's cheek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric tags all belong to Taking Back Sunday in this one.


	4. suicide attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was tricky to get down for a lot of different reasons. Chapter title is also warning. 
> 
> Be safe, all. ♥

_It's just the world, it's just a life, it's just a rusty Rambo knife_  
_wedged between my ribs scratchin my heart up tonight_  
  


(06. Suicide Attempt)

 

 

He wakes up with shit in his mouth. He gags, he spits - it's not blood - it's vomit and cheap whiskey and pills - oh God - the _pills_.

He spits again and tries - oh God - **no** \- he's in the bathroom and he's on the floor - he's 100% not dead. The bottle he finds - glass - plastic - plastic - all empty. The metal cap from the whiskey is stuck to his knee.

He's 100% not dead.

He can work with that. He has to work with that. Whatever he was working with last night - all of that _bullshit_ has to wait - it doesn't even seem that important with the new, very important, detail.

He's still here.

The fuck is he supposed to do with _this_?

They say you can't take it back - Elektra can't take it back - his Dad, Father Lantom, those assholes from down the block - they can't go back - why the hell -

He spits out a mouthful of bile, stomach seizing like cement and sealing his throat - fuck.

This is bad. This is not good. He fucked up. What's new.

 **Shit**.

Can he walk this off? Can he get to his feet - can he still get up? His legs say yes but his stomach and his head say something else and his world's on fire for all the wrong reasons.

He pukes until his ears pop and a rush of dull ringing is his reward. Ringing. No. Phone. Where was his phone? Wait - his phone doesn't ring - that's -

Oh no. He needs to focus but his gut contracts and sends him into a spin.

The door opens. Closes. Something rubs against cloth, a jacket on a hook. A pause - one two three four - quick stomps and the doorknob twists.

Locks mean shit to Jessica Jones and he almost manages to say hello but decides against it when she grips the back of his neck and manhandles him into the bathtub mid-dry heave. The water's cold as life and he wishes he'd thought of it - hell, he was already naked so it had probably been part of his plan - 

"There's puke all over your house, blood - sure - normal Friday for you but - Matt - "

"Drank too much," he hears himself say between mouthfuls of water - bad idea - fuck - who says talking is a good idea ever. The rattle of plastic following her muted his lets him know she found the prescription bottles.

"Did you save these? **Matt**?" She yanks his hair and pulls his head from under the water. "Answer me."

"First aid kit - _don't_ \- it was a mistake, it wasn't - I drank too much," he says and he's not lying, he doesn't think he's lying.

She releases his hair and he slides back to the bottom of the tub.

"I can't do this."

The door slams and for the first time since he woke up today - he's relieved that something's going right.

 

* * *

 

The shower helped but he still has a lot to do before he can start moving forward. He's up, he's back on his feet, he's wearing clothes - even underwear - dressing himself has always been an accomplishment - at least that's what most sighted people think anyway - so he keeps it on his list.

Triage. Assess the situation. " _There is puke all over your house,_ " Jessica's memory tells him and he puts on a third pair of socks and goes back to the bathroom to get his bucket, towels and bleach.

He doesn't have anything left inside that he can vomit back up so he slowly makes his way to the kitchen. Water. Dilute the poison. Flush the system. Forget the point - no - drink water, that's it. Triage.

His head's pounding before he starts and his hearing dulls with the throbbing behind his eyes but he always does better with a task. He's going to fix this. It's Saturday, sure, he has time. He'll clean this up, sleep for a day and a half and he'll smile on Monday - he'll practice so it's a real one and his house won't smell like vomit and he won't feel like he's a dead man walking. He'll smile like he's glad to be alive.

This would be easier with a mop but he knows he won't be able to stand up for that long so he makes his way on his hands and knees, getting his cardio with every trip to the sink for an empty and refill.

"What are you doing?"

He flinches at Jessica's voice but he shakes off the sound as a hallucination until her hand makes contact with his shoulder. Triage.  "Cleaning up."

"You didn't think I was coming back - you thought I'd just leave?"

"You can just leave," he agrees. "I just need - more time to clean up - I can do it." He tries to smack her hand away from the bucket but his hand doesn't make contact. "I have to do it. Go _away_."

"Like hell I'm leaving you alone right now. I should, leave your ass in that puddle of puke and pills and - "

He's going to run out of towels. He's going to have to use the mop. He's going -

"Hey, asshole," she says, softer this time, nudging the bucket out of his reach and winding an arm around his waist. " _Hey_. Stop for a second."

"I can't think about the rest until this is done," he says, hoarse. He's supposed to be drinking water. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you a goddamn hug," she mutters. "I got rubber gloves and _shit_ , you're - let me help you."

Help. Does he need help?

"I'll start in the bathroom, you - just - don't pass out until I get back."

"I don't need help, I can do it," he decides through the drums pounding between his ears.

"I'm staying and it stinks, Matt. Take the time to think about what you're going to say to me when I make you talk because - _fuck_ , we're going to have to talk about this."

"Fuck you," he says without thinking.

"Better, but not good enough," she sighs and finally releases him with a shiver.

She leaves him with the shiver, the cold chill that won't leave his bones when she's gone but drives him to keep going - Triage - clean and then sleep and then deal - he can do this.

He won't listen to Jessica cursing and sponging and spraying in the other room - he won't taste salt between breaths of bleach and bile - water, can't forget water - he won't fixate on whatever she's thinking about right now, how angry she is, why she's even here - it shouldn't be her - no one should have to find him - see him - God - nobody.

He's so _stupid_.

Of _course_ someone would find him. _Of course_. If not Jessica, breezing through like a friend on the weekend for a visit, then Karen - or Foggy, _not Foggy_ \- anyone else - God - what if - 

So stupid.

"God," he hisses.

He doesn't protest when she returns for him, stripping him out of his freshly disgusting clothes for a hot shower that doesn't fix his shivers but breaks through the pain in his head long enough to brush his teeth and not vomit.

She doesn't say anything. But he tastes salt again when she wraps him in the last of his clean towels and dumps him on the bare mattress in a bundle of blankets.

 

* * *

 

_"Did you plan it?"_

He opens his eyes but she already knows he's awake. Every twenty minutes she forces three swallows of water down his throat and takes his pulse. Every twenty minutes, she walks him to the toilet to check his piss color. Every twenty minutes - but the question makes this twenty minute break different.

He owes her. For her silence. Her friendship. Her trust. God, he doesn't deserve any of it. "No."

"What set you off?"

"I'm - sometimes I get tired."

"That's - "

"I was too drunk to talk myself out of it, okay? I - "

"Why were you that drunk, Matt?  Was it that bitch's birthday or your Daddy's death anniversary - what?" she snaps.

He deserves all of that.

" _Matt_."

"I wanted to sleep. I didn't care about waking up - I just - needed everything to stop. It never stops, nothing - I just needed - it to stop," he says and isn't that enough? "Can that be enough?"

The mattress sinks under her weight and she slides her arm behind him, forcing him to play little spoon. She's warm.

He owes her.  "I can't turn it off, I'm always going to listen because I can't stop hearing, I'm always going to smell and feel everything that - I - I couldn't even go out last night."

"Not everything is about Daredevil, Matt. Nothing - you're so much more important than a goddamn mask. Are you listening to me? Daredevil didn't swallow a bunch of pills last night - but my friend Matt was in a bad way."

"I - "

"No, you've said enough. I didn't tell anyone what happened, but you're not going to be alone - not until - _just_ \- you're not going to be alone today. No arguments, no bullshit excuses - just - you're not going to be alone."

"Okay," he says into the pillow.

"Okay," she repeats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric tag belongs to Cage.

**Author's Note:**

> My card is so dramatic, I can't even. ♥
> 
> *Title belongs to My Chemical Romance. _Na-na-na-na-na-na-na_...♥


End file.
